


Monarchs of Seasons

by cher



Category: Follow Me Down (song) - Seanan McGuire
Genre: F/M, Possible Dub-Con, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a Yuletide Treat for apatternedfever. </p><p>Please see end notes for explanation of the possible dub-con tag if you think this fic might not be for you.</p><p>Thanks to AlterEgon for beta help!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Monarchs of Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apatternedfever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatternedfever/gifts).



> This is a Yuletide Treat for apatternedfever. 
> 
> Please see end notes for explanation of the possible dub-con tag if you think this fic might not be for you.
> 
> Thanks to AlterEgon for beta help!

She woke, suddenly as always. She looked around, placing herself: a meadow, early morning, curled in a bed of spring grass. A crown of flowers on her brow, a familiar sensation.

She sat up slowly, looking down at her hands. Rough, white hands, washed with care, but the dirt too ingrained to be washed away told her that she worked with the earth and the soil. Touching her hair, she found it was long, caught back in a simple knot. Undoing it, she swept her unbound hair forward to examine it. Brown, this time, and straight.

She stood, smoothing the unfamiliar, rough white smock down as she did.

She looked around, searching, her heatbeat quickening.

And there, pacing out of a stand of beech trees, Him. This time, he was a slight youth, blond-haired, lightly bearded and blue of eye. She walked to meet him as if in a trance, drinking in his presence, sweeter to her than the grass under her feet after so long in the darkness.

He had no horns, this time. It was good; they gave the boys head pains and it bothered him. He wore a simple robe to match her smock, though they had given him a belt to hold the robe closed, and the belt was red like blood on old snow.

No matter the face he wore, He was the most beautiful thing in the world to her, and she reached to touch his face as they met.

"Lady," he murmured, his voice his own even if it changed every time they met. Always here in this meadow, or ones just like it. Always since the time before fire, and so long as they kept to their vows, always until the death of the sun.

She had wondered in the darkness what they would do if there were no people to host their pantomime with the turning of the sun. Would their insubstantial shades remain, walking through their rituals and unable to touch one another? Would they rest beside one another at last, together but denied touch and speech?

A question for another time. For now, they had this one day and night in the world, to come together as lovers older than time. Then their hosts would shuck them away with their shifts and robes, put them both in the ground until the summer's height.

Each year they woke in the meadow the air tasted different; more metals in the breeze, finer cloth against their skins. Little by little her hosts grew stranger, less quiet in the back of her mind. Full of questions, not so content to sleep as she slept between the Days of Power.

But now, He was holding her. Days of their spirit's sacrifice lay ahead, as they always lay ahead. They chose it again, as they would always choose it.

Today, the seasons' monarchs walked, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Consent issues due to personality overlay of archetype characters onto anonymous characters. Implied sexual situations while the overlay is happening.


End file.
